


to comfort you in the night

by biswholocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Comfort Sex, Late at Night, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6163216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biswholocked/pseuds/biswholocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up as Sherlock slips into the bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to comfort you in the night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the come_at_once 24hr porn challenge. My prompt was "failure is not an option". Not beta'ed (or even really looked over), so please point out any spelling issues! 
> 
> Also, the premise I had in mind for this fic - even though I didn't actually write this part because, well, time - was that while on a case Sherlock messed up (or thought he messed up)/didn't deduce fast enough and someone ended up dying or getting seriously injured. And instead of talking about it, Sherlock ran off without John after the case.

John wakes up as Sherlock slips into the bed. John blinks muzzily and squints at the bedside clock-- 3:20AM. It’s been three hours since John gave up waiting for Sherlock in the sitting room and retreated to the bedroom, just over an hour since he last looked at the clock before falling into an uneasy sleep.

Sherlock wiggles closer to him under the blankets, until their bare legs brush. Sherlock’s skin is cold, likely from wandering outdoors; John finds Sherlock’s hands and cups them between his own, trying to lessen the chill. Sherlock sighs, pressing his lips softly to John’s neck. His curls brush John’s chin, damp from the mist that’s been falling for days.

The kisses start slow, travelling up John’s neck. Sherlock is silent except for his breathing, which is slightly ragged, so John keeps quiet and waits as Sherlock peppers kisses over his jawline, chin, cheeks, the corners of his eyes, one to the tip of his nose. The first touch of their lips is unhurried and gentle. John releases Sherlock’s hands to cup his waist, and in return Sherlock’s fingers twist themselves into John’s t-shirt. Sherlock opens his mouth, beseeching, and John follows suit, sweetly licking into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock tastes faintly of mint and smoke, which means he walked out of the mile radius of shop owners he bribed to buy a pack of cigarettes. John aches a bit at the thought, but pours the emotion into their kiss, sweeping his thumb over Sherlock’s ribs. Sherlock whimpers softly in the back of his throat and entwines them together, legs slotting between each other, hips pressing, chests close enough to feel the rise and fall of their breaths. 

They kiss, and kiss, and John loses track of time as all his attention is focused on Sherlock. He’s buried in sensation, in the slide of their lips and Sherlock’s breathing and the now-warm touch of Sherlock’s body against his own. Comfort is paramount-- it’s only after long minutes that Sherlock begins to shift against him, seeking friction, his hardening cock grinding in small movements against John’s hip. John responds in kind, and Sherlock sighs as their cocks rub together through their pants. John breaks their kiss to press open-mouth kisses to Sherlock’s neck and the hollow of his collarbone. Sherlock is shirtless; John licks and strokes his nipples, and one of Sherlock’s hands come up to grasp the hair at the nape of John’s neck.

“Okay?” John murmurs. It’s the first word either of them have spoken, and it echoes in the darkness of their bedroom.

Sherlock nods, his chin brushing the top of John’s head. 

“What do you need?” John asks, bestowing a chaste kiss to one of Sherlock’s freckles.

“I….you.” Sherlock’s voice is raspy. “I need you. Please, I don’t--”

John waits, but Sherlock doesn’t continue, just tightens his hold on John’s shirt.

“Okay,” he agrees after a quiet pause. “Okay.”

John continues his journey down Sherlock’s body, paying special attention to the outline of Sherlock’s ribs and each of his hipbones. As he laves his tongue over Sherlock’s skin, John’s fingers creep under the waistband of Sherlock’s pants and rolls the material down, exposing Sherlock’s cock. He continues, until Sherlock can kick the pants off his legs and lose them in the bedding, and shifts downward so that he is face-level with Sherlock’s cock. His foreskin has begun to retract, leaving behind an exposed head that drips out precome as John kisses Sherlock’s thighs, breathes hotly over Sherlock’s balls. Sherlock’s other hand joins his first in John’s hair, petting and gripping. 

“John,” Sherlock moans quietly. “Please.”

John gives in, and licks the slit of Sherlock’s cock before taking the head into his mouth. Sherlock moans, and John slides down further, working Sherlock’s shaft with his tongue and letting saliva drip down what he can’t reach. Sherlock’s fingers clench in his hair. John takes a deep breath through his nose, then sinks down until the tip of Sherlock’s cock is brushing the back of his throat; he swallows, wetly, and Sherlock’s cock twitches. 

“Yes,” Sherlock says, gasping. 

John comes up to take a quick breath, then swallows Sherlock down again. Sherlock moans, and the sound makes John’s own cock throb with heat. 

“Close,” Sherlock whispers, so John licks and licks, working Sherlock over with his tongue until with quivering thighs and a cut off sound, Sherlock comes. John swallows what he can, then catches the rest in his hand as he pulls off and takes a breath. Sherlock is gasping, and his hands move restlessly in John’s hair. 

“Up, up,” he demands, and John scoots up so that they can kiss as John slips the hand covered in Sherlock’s come into his pants to grasp his cock. His touch is slick and warm; all it takes is a few thrusts into his fist and Sherlock panting into his mouth, occasionally flicking out his tongue, for John to let go and come with a low groan. 

Their breathing settles, after a few minutes. John wipes his hand on his pants and shucks them off, and Sherlock slides close once again. Their lips meet, briefly and chastely, before Sherlock tucks his head under John’s chin and presses his face into John’s chest.

“It’s not your fault,” John whispers, rubbing Sherlock’s back. “You didn’t fail. And I love you.”

“I love you,” Sherlock rumbles, and brushes his lips over John’s heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always welcome and appreciated!


End file.
